


little red in the wolf's bed

by AlysanneBlackwood



Series: Fairy-Tales [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Cult
Genre: Cannibalism imagery, Charles Perrault and the Brothers Grimm are rolling in their graves, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am proud of this and regret nothing, Little Red Riding Hood motif/metaphor, Manipulation, Screwy power dynamics, no actual cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 11:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18387665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlysanneBlackwood/pseuds/AlysanneBlackwood
Summary: "There is a variant in the Little Red Riding Hood story, one that she had stumbled upon in a dog-eared book of fairy tales in the back of the library when she was young: Little Red Riding Hood enters her grandmother’s house and finds the wolf disguised; he orders her to take her clothes off, throw them in the fire, and climb into bed with him.  She obeys, and when she climbs into bed with him, he eats her."Or:The wolf is proud and foolish, and Little Red Riding Hood is hungry.





	little red in the wolf's bed

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I know this ship is a bad idea. In fact, it's a horrible idea. But I live for screwed-up power balances in fictional relationships and how they're explored, and I wanted to write about it. So I did.  
> 2\. I am indebted to Charles Perrault for his recording of "Le Petit Chaperon Rogue", Wilhelm and Jakob Grimm for their recording of "Rotkäppchen", and the people who told the story hundreds of years before it was ever written. Thank you for writing the story down so I can use it for a creepy metaphor in my weird, self-indulgent smut fic.  
> 3\. I envisioned this as taking place in-between episodes nine and ten of Cult while writing to make it easier, but obviously this didn't happen. It never would have. This is complete crack.

There is a variant in the Little Red Riding Hood story, one that she had stumbled upon in a dog-eared book of fairy tales in the back of the library when she was young: Little Red Riding Hood enters her grandmother’s house and finds the wolf disguised; he orders her to take her clothes off, throw them in the fire, and climb into bed with him.  She obeys, and when she climbs into bed with him, he eats her.

A warning to all little girls, to let the words of strange and charming men go unheeded.

His smile is a wolf’s leer, his voice dark and dripping sweet and in the dim light she can imagine his teeth stained and running scarlet.

_ (‘Oh, Grandmother, what big teeth you have!’ _

_ ‘The better to eat you with, sweetling.’) _

“I thought you liked women,” he says, the leer curling with smugness.

“You’re special,” she replies, and hears his laugh, not disbelieving as it once was, but pleased and knowing, and how easy it shall be to turn the tale roundabout.

There is no fire to consign her clothing to, so she leaves them on the floor and climbs into his bed.  He leans over her, his eyes almost black, shining greedy with delight. 

_ (‘Oh, Grandmother, what big eyes you have!’ _

_ ‘The better to see you with, sweetling.’) _

“You’re fucking me,” he says, “after I ruined your life.”

“You helped me.”  She watches his eyes, and sees no surprise.  Perfect. “You saved me. You saved me from my weakness.”

“That’s all I wanted to do,” he whispers, his lips sucking hungrily at her throat.  

“I want to save the rest,” she tells him.  “I want to save them all for our son.”

_ “Our son.”   _ The words fall reverential from his mouth.  “We’ll save them for him, and he’ll take it all for us.”  His hand crawls in-between her legs to push them apart; his nails scratch at her flesh, and she wonders if he means to draw blood in echo of a noble virgin on her wedding-night.  He would break her, and bring her into his new world.

_ (‘Oh, Grandmother, what big hands you have!’ _

_ ‘The better to hug you with, sweetling.’) _

When he enters her, all she feels is a cold, disconnected triumph; she is watching him fuck her, watching herself moan and tremble around him and it is all false, false as a wolf’s reassurances, false as every word he has ever said.  Her lies will weigh him down until he can no longer run and oh, how sweet it will be when he falls. She thinks of this over and over as he thrusts harder, his hair slapping against her cheek, his eyes now two black pits that she has only now climbed out of, ignoring that he is beginning to hurt her.  Is this how he thinks to devour her, as he did the others? No, he was gentle with them. He stroked their hair and poured his poison in their ears in the kindest tones. He needed to, else they might flee him. But he has already eaten her, and needs not to lie. Once again, it is perfect.

He finishes with a low snarl and she cries out in pretended orgasm, seeing his satisfied smile again when she does.  Drunk on his self-supposed godliness he has played into her hands; he might as well have lain down and cut himself open for her to fill with millstones, for all the good she will do him.

And yet she will do him so much good, for there will be nothing left for him once she grants him death.  She will take it all from him; strip away his flesh with a knife and crunch her teeth on his bones and swallow him down in a thousand bloody pieces.

He takes her hand and kisses it, and, as her hand falls, she glimpses his teeth.

They seem to drip and slaver scarlet.

But then again, hers will too.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you wish to; constructive criticism is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!


End file.
